2 comments:

Firstly, why are there always only white people in the gym? Are Indians just too lazy and don't our Caucasian have lives? Hm.

Then of course, there are the silent but ever-present battles you face with rival tread-millers. The look of "You wanna go? Cos baby, I'm ready to hand your pudge to you on a plate!" is truly invigorating and somewhat arousing (is that natural?). It's quite sad when a 40-year old mother of two can go for 10 minutes and you start panting after about 4.

Lastly, I feel no gym trip in complete without being utterly flabbergasted by the instructor's biceps. I mean, the lad could bench-press the entire BJP with a smile on his face. I slowly slink off into the shadows of jealous mediocrity.

My Punching Bag

Be Ye An Angel?

The author of this blog was born helpless, naked and without the means to provide for himself.
He has since fought these handicaps to emerge as a nonstop chatterbox spouting unnecessary drivel on unsuspecting, polite strangers who merely indulge him in order to get away safe and sound no doubt wondering even as they go how much he can talk, just the way you must be thinking right now if this sentence ever stops. There you go.
In his spare time, he enjoys spraying water on cats and watching them jump for their lives.